Rekindle
by A. LaRosa
Summary: Danny/Sam, one-shot collection. Rekindle: tr.v. to revive or renew... as in a fire, or as in an interest in a certain topic and/or fandom. Rating upped due to recent chapters. Review!
1. The First Dance

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing. Butch Hartman, the crazy genius, owns it all.

**Author's Note**: I'm not promising anything, but due to Netflix and a recent surge of re-interest, I've found myself writing Danny Phantom fic again. This is going to be a collection of however many short ficlets and one-shots I feel like writing. At any given time it can be complete, but I hope to entertain you even just a little bit before the fire is pushed down again. Enjoy!

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**Rekindle**: A Series of One-shots  
_First Dance  
_October 17, 2010

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"I still can't believe you agreed to this, much less planned it," Danny said, his words being breathed into her ear as they swayed slowly to the music.

"I didn't do much of the planning, as you know," she replied softly, sure that he could hear her over the dull murmurs of their guests. The flashes of cameras were going off, she could see the brightness behind her closed eyelids. She ignored this.

"Still," he replied, smiling. "It means a lot more to everyone, don't you think? That we're sharing this with them?"

"Yeah," she replied, a bit reluctant in tone. She reflected the arguing that had beaten her down to agreement. "For my mother to see me in a dress even remotely close to the color white… I think she can die happy, now."

Danny chuckled. He moved back to press a kiss to her forehead, which brought on another onslaught of flashing cameras. So many cameras.

They kept their intimacy behind doors, so to see all of these cameras flashing… it was uncomfortable to say the least. They tried not to kiss in front of family or friends, for saving face or avoiding playful teasing, who knew; however, it seemed more important to let them in on their life as a couple rather than independent people. It was their wedding, after all.

Despite not being able to get some sort of rock band at their wedding—if her parents were paying for it, at least some things would go their way—the music was nice. It wasn't distasteful, nor was it country, so she was able to cope. She had to pick her battles during the planning stages, and this was one of them.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked.

Sam replied, "The music. The everything. You. Me. How all of this used to be such a pipe dream for me."

"We've talked about this before, you know," he replied.

"We should be dancing, not talking." She knew where this conversation would go, and by doing so they would break the magic between them during their first dance as a married couple. If no ghost dragons crashed their wedding, it would be a grand occasion, however absurd the thought was to a normal human being. Of course a ghost or two would sneak in. She had grown to be almost as famous as he in the Ghost Zone. "The woman that tamed the halfa," they joked. She smiled.

"You're right."

Danny slowed his steps, from the traditional waltz they had been moving in—he had learned after much harassment from the mother of the bride—to sway slowly back and forth. He ignored the catcalls when his hands moved to her lower waist, but grinned when he saw Sam raise a brow at the action.

Sam continued to grip his hand, wrapping her free arm around his neck to pull him closer. She felt as if they were one being, slowly swaying. The feeling was wonderful.

"Mrs. Fenton," he almost purred into her ear.

She knew that tone well, but feigned innocence with a light tone. "Yes, Mr. Fenton?"

Their sultry looks were interrupted by the clinking of wine classes and champagne flutes.

"It's tradition," he sing-songed, leaning in to bestow a kiss upon her lips. She grumbled something about how they weren't supposed to follow tradition down to every little, last detail, but gave in as she smiled into the kiss once his lips reached her own.

Cameras flashed.

The music ended.


	2. Lazy Days

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing. Butch Hartman, the crazy genius, owns it all.

**Author's Note**: Blame Netflix. I'm even dreaming about Danny Phantom I've been watching it so much.

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**Rekindle**: A Series of One-shots  
_Lazy Days  
_June 11, 2011

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Danny was at ease. It didn't happen often, but he was completely relaxed. Family out of the house, portal shut down: these together equaled bliss for the young man. Well, one other factor could make his day phenomenal, but he wasn't going to press his luck.

The halfa's limbs were stretched as far as his body would allow, reaching spread-eagle across his bed. Blanket long discarded on the floor, sheets haphazardly strewn across his middle—naked as the day he was born. Oh yeah, this was the life. He had no classes, no other engagements. He could do whatever he wanted with no one to answer to.

His eyes were closed, a serene smile across his face… a cool breeze filtering in through his window—wait.

Sam's voice cut into his consciousness just as he sat up with a rush. "How oblivious can one person be? I've been knocking at your window for about five—_hello_."

Danny lifted the sheet to cover his chest, as if that would give him a little more modesty. "What happened to calling before dropping by?"

"What happened to answering your cell phone?"

He reached over to his nightstand. Sure enough, six missed calls. All from Sam. "That, too? Sorry."

"I was at your front door for ten minutes before deciding the ladder would be a lot faster." Pause. "So, care to explain the nudity?"

He wiggled his eyebrows. "I knew you were coming over?"

Sam rolled her eyes, sitting on the edge of his bed to unlace her boots. "You're so suave I don't think I can handle it. Maybe you should try to not answer in a way that makes it seem like you're asking rather than telling—just a thought."

"I learn something new every day with you," he chuckled, reaching out for her midsection to pull her closer. She flopped backwards, head hitting the pillow. Sam tilted her head in order to look at Danny better.

"Do you think Desiree is around?" he asked.

She furrowed her eyebrows. "I thought you closed the portal for the weekend with your parents gone."

"Just double checking. I wished you were here and suddenly you are."

She chuckled, nuzzling against his cheek. "You're a lot better at cheesy flirting than suave flirting."

"Noted, but it's true. I was here just thinking about how my day couldn't get any better… unless you were here with me."

"I believe it."

"Good," he murmured, kissing her forehead.

Sam reached out to draw squiggles against his chest before jabbing him with her index finger. "You still haven't explained the nudity."

He pouted, mouthing 'ow' as he rubbed the spot she hit. "Who needs clothes when you're home alone?"

"Valid point," Sam responded. "You're not home alone anymore, though."

"But you're my girlfriend, so that makes it even more acceptable to be naked."

Sam chuckled, moving out of his embrace. She wiggled off her skirt, then lifted her tank top over her head. Not entirely naked, but better in Danny's book. She returned to his arms, and the second she was close enough, he snapped her bra open.

"Danny!" she pouted, and then heaved a great sigh as she pulled it off. "You've gotten too good at that."

He grinned cheekily, only to receive a solid whack to the chest.

Hours later, sun still pouring in the window, Danny was even more so at ease. Spread, just as he was before, only with his girlfriend curled up against his side, breathing evenly. Worn out. Just as consciousness began to slip away from him, his lazy smile returned.

This was the life.


	3. Alone

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing. Butch Hartman, the crazy genius, owns it all.

**Author's Note**: This story has been sitting, unfinished, in my documents folder for the longest time. I gave it a nice little overhaul and decided to post it. The timeline for this story is about mid-way through the series, hence the angst.

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**Rekindle**: A Series of One-shots  
_Alone  
_June 21, 2011

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Sam was starting to get concerned; she had done this many a night all too often... and it was worrying her. She was afraid she would hide behind the shadow of the brave, fearless girl who could dominate the world with a glare.

She was afraid that she couldn't pull herself away from the façade of someone who knew what she was doing, where she was going, what exactly was going on in her mind. More and more she'd find herself alone and depressed, lying in bed, staring at the top of the blood red canopy, which adorned the frame of her large bed.

Danny never visited her at night anymore. He would go to Tucker with any injuries, now.

_Some things were better left unsaid_, was the old adage, and she was beginning to doubt those words with the specific case at hand. She felt as if she was slipping into the false security of insanity, like playing a childish game of make-believe. Now, at sixteen, she was much too old for those games.

What a convincing thought that was, but when she couldn't seem to let it pass through those barriers of her mind and heart, she let it drop to the ground and break into a million pieces.

Her heart had been there before, just not her mind. It was teetering back and forth, unable to reason or cope with the new development of her life.

During the normal hours of daylight, she played the role she was born to play, and made it through those moments with a forced smile on her face and a hole in her heart. She tried so hard to make that hole go away, she really did, but when she saw Danny with _her_, she felt herself slip, repeatedly, again and again, into the dark and soothing numbness of...

Sam didn't know how to describe her general feelings at that moment in time. She knew that it was far from normal as well as not healthy, but... she didn't know what label she could place on it, if it deemed a label at all. She wasn't going insane, though she wasn't beaming from ear to ear—normal? Was that what normal felt like? Either option of demeanor was far out of the question, but... she knew she wasn't even the slightest bit content. She also knew that she shouldn't let something as stupid as... as... _love_ to rule her life.

As the thought crossed her mind, she knew it was a pathetic attempt at steering herself away from the real problem.

She did not know the extent of her love for _him_. She didn't know how much it would affect her at the end of the day, nor did she know how lovesick and lonely she would become. Now, time had passed, and she found herself ultimately powerless. She was weak. The longing glances even Tucker picked up on, the way she would quietly excuse herself from any conversation where Danny and _her_ took part in… everyone but Danny took notice, it seemed. Not that Valerie would do anything about it. She won. Sam lost.

Sam wound up doing the only thing she could in a sad position like this: hope. Hope that the relationship would end and things could go back to the way they were, at least. Go back, so far, that they wouldn't have to deal with the repercussions of heartbreak. She would be there for him, as any best friend would, to pick up the pieces of his heart.

She would pick up those pieces before she even attempted to pick up her own.

She didn't know what brought on the sudden bout of pretending, but it allowed her to escape from the cruel, cruel world that had her bound.

_The ghost and the hunter in red_; those two together would always leave a bad taste in her mouth.

Sam would just have to persevere. With a plastic smile hidden behind violet lips. She needed to in order to survive.


	4. Drumming

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing. Butch Hartman, the crazy genius, owns it all.

**Author's Note**: I've been obsessed with this song, "Drumming" by Florence + The Machine because it reminds me of Danny and Sam (well, Sam about Danny) and I thought I'd write something about it that reflects how I view the song with them in mind. Short and sweet.

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**Rekindle**: A Series of One-shots  
_Drumming  
_August 31, 2011

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Sam Manson wouldn't call herself an obsessive person. Others would call her passionate and determined, possibly to the point of annoyance, but never obsessive—as much as Tucker would beg to differ.

There was one thought she couldn't shake, no matter how many times she tried to distract herself. To make herself forget about the drumming in her head…

It wasn't a headache, nor was it something she could will to happen. It just happened.

At first it wasn't a problem. She chalked it up to stress and closed the book on the topic, thinking nothing of it. It took her months to give in to the drumming, to question its presence or acknowledge the fact that it even existed.

When she detected the trigger of the drumming, what made it begin and rage on, it became evident; Sam felt sick, swaying and allowing her head to contact her locker with a loud _thud _upon impact. She had it bad.

Tucker had asked, worried that it was her lady problems acting up again, but once she expressed her problem, in five concise words… he understood. He already knew, but to a lesser degree. It wasn't a crush anymore. It was a lot deeper than she had initially bargained for.

Danny had approached unknowing, yawning—was he always yawning?—after yet another late night patrolling the town. Sam would later accuse him of creeping up on her on purpose.

He dropped his head on her shoulder from behind, sighing in exhaustion. "Give me five minutes." His other hand was at the small of her back, underneath her backpack.

"You only have about two before first bell rings," Sam responded, trying her hardest not to jump out of her skin. Her nerves were on fire, electric currents shooting through each and every one of them.

The drumming was louder than ever, clanging and bashing and… how could he not notice it? It was ramming against her ribcage, threatening to smash her into a million pieces. Wasn't it deafening?

"You're warm. You've always been such a good pillow."

Fireworks exploded in her chest along with the drumming. She felt as if she could go into cardiac arrest at this point. She looked at Tucker in alarm. Could Tucker hear the drumming? He could vouch that she wasn't crazy, but could he actually hear?

Tucker could only watch on with an amused look on his face. From his point of view, he knew Danny was less of a lost cause than Sam made him out to be. The Goth would only need to be a little more patient.

She was good at that, though. He wasn't worried.


End file.
